Aschenpotter
by Esther Huffleclaw
Summary: For the Grimmification Competition by ink-stained dreams. The title is a play on the German for Cinderella: Aschenputtel. "Dudley always got tons of presents and got to do whatever he wanted for his birthday, but Harry's birthday was ignored."


_**A/N: For the Grimmification Competition by ink-stained dreams. I was given the fairy tale Cinderella and asked to incorporate a 'grimmified' version of it into a Harry Potter fan fic. The title is a play on the German for Cinderella: Aschenputtel.**_

Harry Potter lived in a tiny, cramped cupboard under the stairs in his aunt and uncle's house. His cousin Dudley had two huge bedrooms, but Harry had none. Dudley got to eat anything he wanted and as much of it as he wanted (which was usually quite a lot more than was healthy for a boy his age), while Harry had to be content with the unappetizing bits no one else wanted. Dudley had the best brand new clothes; Harry had worn-out hand-me-downs which never fit him. Dudley had so many toys they filled both of his bedrooms, while Harry played with used toothpicks and dust bunnies. Most often, however, Harry didn't have time to play at all. He was expected to cook and clean all day long, and with the amount Dudley and Uncle Vernon ate and the standard of cleanliness that Aunt Petunia demanded, that usually meant he was up before dawn and barely in bed by midnight.

On Dudley's birthday, the rest of the family went out for the day to celebrate, leaving Harry alone. He didn't mind much; being alone was loads better than having them around; at least he didn't have to cook for them as they'd be eating out as well. But today it kind of hit him: they never celebrated Harry's birthday. Dudley always got tons of presents and got to do whatever he wanted for his birthday, but Harry's birthday was ignored. Thinking about it, he realized that he didn't even know what day his birthday was. Feeling a little sorry for himself, Harry went into his cupboard and lay down on his narrow bed, staring at the spiders spinning webs on the bottom of the stairs above him.

A few minutes later, a crash resounded through the house, coming from the vicinity of the front door. Harry lay very still, listening hard. The Dursleys couldn't be back already, could they? Then a voice called out, "Harry? Harry Potter?" It wasn't a voice Harry recognized; it was a strong voice, a rough voice, and yet somehow a kind voice.

Harry opened his door and peered out. A tall man in a long black coat stood in the Dursley's front hall. He had straggly dark hair and a haunted-looking face. Upon seeing Harry however, his face lit up with a grin. "Harry!" he cried and stepped forward toward the boy.

"Who are you?" Harry stared in astonishment as the man's heavy boots clumped across Aunt Petunia's spotless floor.

"I'm your godfather: Sirius Black." Sirius held out his hand to Harry. "Come along. We've got a lot to do today, and we have to get you back here before the Dursleys get home."

Hesitantly, Harry put his small hand into Sirius' calloused palm. His godfather pulled him fully out of the cupboard and looked him up and down. "Well, those clothes just won't do," he said firmly. Pulling a slender bit of polished wood from the pocket of his coat, Sirius muttered something that Harry didn't catch and waved the implement at him. Instantly, Dudley's old clothes that hung loosely from the small boy's frame were transformed into new-looking attire that actually fit Harry.

Sweeping Harry along in his wake, Sirius proceeded out the door to the street. Harry stopped and stared at the large motorbike parked on the street. He had only seen such vehicles from a distance before, as Aunt Petunia hated them, calling them "deathtraps" and the like. He watched in fascination as Sirius swung one leg over the seat and kick started the engine. Then, to Harry's delight, his godfather turned and helped him get up behind him on the bike. "Hold on tight, Harry!" Sirius called back, leaning forward over the handlebars and revving the engine. Then they took off down Privet Drive, so fast that Harry forgot to breathe.

Harry held on so tight that his hands hurt, but then his hands often hurt. Aunt Petunia insisted that the dishes be washed in hot water or they weren't clean. If they weren't clean enough for her standards, Harry would have to rewash them in hotter water. And he wasn't allowed to use rubber gloves. Uncle Vernon said that rubber gloves were for pansies and no nephew of his was permitted to be a pansy.

As the motorbike neared the end of the street and showed no sign of slowing or turning the corner, Harry thought about jumping off before they hit the houses, but knew he'd be injured almost as much either way. Instead, he watched the neat little gardens and whitewashed walls get closer and closer, until they fell away beneath the motorbike and Harry and Sirius were flying. For a long time, Harry couldn't enjoy the sensation, though, as his fear and horror at the near miss wouldn't leave him.

Then just as Harry started to relax, they tilted forward and began to descend. A few minutes later, they stood just inside an old house and a tiny ugly creature wearing a filthy, tattered rag was taking their coats. "Come along, Harry." Sirius led the way into the kitchen where he sat down at the ancient table. "I know you've never had a proper birthday party—or any kind of party for that matter—so we're going to have one today." He gestured to another chair at the table. "Go on; sit down."

Harry sat gingerly and stared around the room. Everything was covered with a fine layer of grime, even the table. Harry suppressed a giggle at the thought of Aunt Petunia's reaction were she to ever see this place. The house was completely silent, clearly empty of all but the two of them and that grotesque little beast from before.

"Kreacher!" Sirius bellowed. "Bring the food!"

The small bat-like thing that had taken their coats shuffled into the room. "Yes, Master," it croaked as it made its way over to the greasy cookstove in the corner. Harry watched in some trepidation as Kreacher opened the oven door and brought out what looked vaguely like a lopsided cake, then brought it over and placed it on the table in front of Harry. Upon closer examination, Harry decided that it was a cake, and it had a thick—hopefully chocolate—brown icing smeared over it.

Sirius was beaming at his godson. "Well, Harry," he said, "what do you think? Shall we have cake first or wait until you've opened your present?" He placed a long narrow package on the table; it appeared to be wrapped with old newspapers.

Not quite sure about the cake, Harry reached for the package. Sirius' smile widened even more as Harry began to unwrap it. To Harry's bewilderment, the package contained a broom, although it was the strangest broom Harry had ever seen. The straw was bunched together, coming to a point, and the handle was curved oddly and polished to a high gloss. But it was still a broom, which could be used only for cleaning floors. He stared at it, wondering if Aunt Petunia was behind the whole thing after all, and this was a hint that he should be cleaning more thoroughly. His eyes stung as he stared at his present, and Sirius took his silence as that Harry was speechless with joy.

"Isn't it beautiful, Harry?" he said, running his hands over the broomstick. "The newest model." His eyes glowed as he looked up. "It's faster than anything out there and it corners like a dream."

Nothing he said made sense to Harry, who now wanted only to go back and hide in his cupboard. For a moment, he'd thought that having a godfather meant his life would get better, but clearly that was not to be the case.

Picking up a large knife, Sirius cut the cake, humming tunelessly while he did so. He plopped a large chunk onto a plate and set it in front of Harry. "Eat up, Harry," he said cheerfully, while he cut himself another chunk and dug in.

Harry nibbled at the cake, not really tasting it, until Sirius was finished his. Then Sirius jumped up and said, "Merlin's beard! We better get you home! It's getting late."

Harry barely noticed the ride back, lost in gloominess. When he finally found himself in his cupboard, he threw himself on his bed and closed his eyes tightly, hoping to squeeze out the disappointment of the day. Before long, he fell asleep.

He awoke confused, and sat up to look around. The broomstick was nowhere to be seen, and his memories of the day felt unreal, like a dream half remembered.


End file.
